Education
by Nom De Guerre
Summary: A small university town is largely unaware of the activities of the Umbrella Corporation until the escape of a new bio-weapon. The unfolding horror, as seen through the eyes of a student and members of UMCS
1. Incident

2:41 PM The cracks in the safety glass spread like skeletal fingers, reaching out under the force of another blow. The dull thud, punctuated by the sound of glass cracking reverberated in Dr. Steven Brightman's small office.  
"Please, God, help me!", he screamed at the black sphere on his ceiling, housing a security camera, "Please! It's coming!"  
Another thud at the glass. A small, glistening shard fell to the carpet below, shining faintly under the flickering florescent lights.  
Dr. Brightman stepped back, stumbling over the garbage can next to his desk. Shredded documents and manila folders were now strewn across the floor. They crumpled as he stepped over them, reaching desperately with his left had for the polished nickel handle of his top desk drawer. He grasped it as-  
A dull thud again filled the room. The rapidly failing composite glass shield had taken the form of a convex dome, rife with circular cracks. The sound of crackling glass was reminiscent of a child hastily unwrapping a present  
The drawer slid open in his hand. Visible inside was a pad of stationary, some envelopes, pens and a small letter opener. All bore the monogram 'SB' in ornate black letters. Brightman hastily thrust his hand to the back of the drawer, searching. He was soon rewarded with the feeling of cold steel.  
The eight-inch-thick observation window creaked under the force of an immense blow. More mirror-like fragments fell to the floor.  
Dr. Brightman breathed heavily as he removed his hand from the drawer. In it he held a small Glock 9mm pistol. He gripped it tight as he reached again into the drawer, retrieving a monogrammed fountain pen and a sheet of paper. He collapsed to the floor, his head resting on the bookshelf full of scientific journals behind him. He shook the pen as much out of habit as out of fear before putting it to the paper. Tears welled up in his eyes as he quickly scrawled the words "Emily, I'm sorry." A tear fell onto the page, causing the wet ink to run.  
Another thud resounded in the room as small fragments of glass flew in all directions. For a moment, Brightman was reminded of a winter snowfall. His wife had always loved the snow.  
Letting the note fall to his chest, he pressed the muzzle of the gun to his temple. The trails of tears glistened on his face as his finger tightened around the trigger.  
Click. Brightman opened his eyes and moved the pistol into his field of vision. He inverted it and found that where the magazine should have been, there was only a hollow pistol grip. He rose quickly, desperately searching the drawer with both hands as the glass shield exploded. Razor edged shards showered Brightman, tearing through his stained lab coat and into his skin. He cried out, feeling the searing pain of his wounds and the rivulets of blood already running down his torso. Gasping, he opened his eyes, just in time to see the blur of motion in his peripheral vision. He turned in the direction of the movement, but soon heard only the wet sound of his skull crushing. His body fell limp to the floor as the lights in his office flickered and died.  
  
10:23 PM Shitty way to spend a Friday night, Kyle thought to himself. He sauntered down Main Street, working his way towards campus. Westville was nice this time of year; he'd miss it when he graduated in a few months. The weather was quite moderate for a January, but he still kept the hood of his sweatshirt up to guard against the wind. It was several minutes before he caught sight of his destination. The recently constructed Janet Young Life Sciences Centre was still impressive to view, even though this felt like the hundredth time. It sat roughly half way up the hill on which the campus of Crowell University was centered, four stories high and surrounded with trees and gardens. It was expensive looking without being ornate, built of old stone with four pillars flanking the main entrance. At its rear sat a massive enclosed greenhouse built to service the botany department. It appeared more as an estate than a research centre. Kyle walked up the stairs towards the entrance, each footstep echoing off the marble slabs that topped the stairs. Reaching the entrance, he pushed on the heavy oak doors and entered. The door creaked on its hinges as it gently closed behind him. The entryway to the building again gave the impression of an estate house, and conveyed the amount this building must have cost. Above the main doors hung a large chandelier that softly illuminated the main hall. A somewhat plain looking desk with the university crest carved on its front sat immediately facing the doors. Behind it usually sat a member of the campus security force in his sixties, but at 10:30 on a Friday night, Kyle wagered he was probably at home sleeping. To the left was what the university called the "campus meeting place", a great-hall complete with fire places and leather couches. During the daylight hours, hidden speakers played classical scores while students studied or slept on the overstuffed couches. Currently, it was silent and lit by only the pilot lights of the gas fire places and the ambient light bleeding in from the floor to ceiling windows. To his right was the functional component of the building, or more specifically, a part of it. A large door led to an L-shaped hall full of classrooms. At its end was another door, leading to a stairway and access to Kyle's destination, the labs. As Kyle rounded the turn in the hall, he took his keys out of his right pocket. Pausing to look through them, he selected the one labelled "JYLSC" and walked towards the metal framed oak door. One of the perks of being an honours student, he thought. Three years of work and they give you a key. The door opened with a familiar click, and Kyle removed his keys and slid them back into his pocket. Entering the staircase, he immediately noticed that the lights were out. Only the small safety lamps lit the narrow wooden staircase. As he reached the landing, he noticed something else. At the bottom of the second set of stairs was the entrance to the labs, or, at least where it should be. Behind the glass sliding door that read "B1- Biology Department" was a solid block of steel, completely sealing the entrance. It resembled a blast door: dull metal finish with yellow and black caution stripes along its lower edge. "What the hell?" Kyle remarked under his breath. He had hoped to get into the department to put in a few hours work on his thesis, but this now seemed out of the question. Security was always tight around the labs: there were literally several million dollars worth of equipment in there, but he wasn't aware that the labs were locked down to this extent after hours. It looked like the thesis would have to wait. I think I preferred the department prior to our sponsorship, Kyle thought to himself. Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, one of the universities largest contributors, funded construction of the building. It was great for the department, it meant they received equipment they'd never get to use otherwise, but there's always some cost. It meant now that all theses and research projects had to meet the "standard of scientific merit"; in other words, whatever was of benefit to Umbrella. Were that not bad enough, all of the researchers Umbrella had brought in were terrible professors. Kyle's advisor, Dr. Brightman, was the one notable exception. But even for all his good points, Dr. Brightman had Kyle studying the sleep cycle of rats on a new anti-depressant, part of his own research. Kyle found this immensely tedious, but also wanted a chance to get into a decent Graduate program. Though, Kyle thought, he was better off than his room- mate Trevor, stuck with monitoring the growth of genetically modified bean plants. Kyle had grown fond of asking Trevor how it felt to be a 22 year- old university student doing the work of a second grader. But truth be told, he was not much better off. As Kyle turned to make his way up the stairs, he decided he would e-mail Dr. Brightman when he got home. He was supposed to have his data collected by Monday, but with this development, it was unlikely that that would happen. Besides, he thought, Brightman seemed a keener; he could be in his office right now. Dr. Brightman's office was on the B-3 Floor, two down from the labs. Kyle had never been: Students weren't allowed below the B-1 level: "University policy".  
  
3:58 PM Dr. Prescott's visits were not something that General Williams treasured. As he waited in the briefing room, it was all he could do not to cringe, envisioning Prescott's nasal voice and rat-like appearance. He was not able to dwell on this though for long, however, as the door to his left opened, producing Prescott and his aide. The General rose. "Dr. Prescott, pleased to see you again." He said as he shook the man's hand. Prescott had the grip of a 12-year-old girl; the General half- worried he would crush his hand in shaking it. "Glad to be here, as always" replied Prescott, "Please, take a seat. I've got something of great interest for both of us." Prescott walked somewhat uncomfortably towards the computer console at the front of the conference table. The eyes of Williams and his aide followed him there. "By all means, proceed Doctor. As you're well aware, your work always merits the interest of the Department of National Defence." Prescott responded with a smile that seemed more a nervous twitch than anything. "Thank you General. I'll begin then." Williams gestured to his aide, who promptly rose and left the room. Before closing the door behind him, he turned back. "Should you need anything sir, I'll be just outside." "Thank you lieutenant, dismissed." The General sharply responded. The door made a dull click as it closed. Prescott turned his attention from the door back to the general, before bringing up a slide show on the large plasma display behind him. The first slide read "BOW X5172A". "The X5172A is our latest attempt at a durable, functional, and very lethal Bio-organic weapon. It represents the experiences we've taken from our past BOWs, as well as incorporating some new innovations. We call it the Praetorian." "Praetorian?" interjected the General, "This is the first I've heard of this project." "Well, it is still..." Prescott paused, never meeting the General's stare, "Still, being developed, in some respects." Prescott clicked the mouse button, bringing up the next slide. It showed a technical diagram of something almost doubtless removed from a child's nightmare. The creature looked lean and wiry, its body composed wholly of exposed musculature and bony plates. The digits on its left and right hands were hugely exaggerated: they looked to be made entirely of bone, coming to sharp points with serrated edges. The creature's face was-  
"As you can see, General", Prescott interrupted the General's train of thought, "It is at least structurally similar to some of our early efforts, but has been vastly improved." A twitchy smile pursed Prescott's lips. Prescott continued.  
"The Praetorian stands just under three meters tall and weighs in at approximately 350 kilos. All of its major organs leave the brain are, at minimum, doubly redundant. The bone carapace that shields its vitals is comparable in strength to reinforced concrete, and will stop any round up to .50 calibre. Its regenerative capacities are comparable to the Tyrant series BOWs, with a 20 percent increase in healing time. Additionally, its dermal cells secrete a chemically inert gel, rendering it nearly invulnerable to chemical attack as well as extremes of temperature." Prescott flipped through a series of images as he spoke: The creature on an operating table, the creature in a stasis tube, the creature standing.  
"This all sounds very impressive in theory Doctor, but you'll excuse me for being sceptical." The General again interrupted, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but some of your corporation's comparable efforts have been brought down by a small-town police force."  
A twinge of anger creased Prescott's face, but quickly faded into a wry smile. He again clicked the mouse button.  
"This is a demonstration of the Praetorian at 18 hours of age." Prescott gestured towards the screen, "On the left is a Kodiak bear. It's comparable in height and exceeds the Praetorian in weight. For six months prior to the trial, it had been injected with heavy doses of Anabolic steroids and other growth agents. For several days prior to the trial, it had been deprived of food." He again clicked the mouse, and the image began to move.  
The Praetorian entered on the right of the screen, slightly obscured by the date/time display on the image. It seemed to gaze ponderously at the bear, studying it. Without warning, the bear reared onto its hind legs, letting out a resounding growl. The Praetorian was motionless, still studying the creature from sunken eyes. The bear lunged forward, exposing its massive teeth. It was only when the bear was less than a foot away that the Praetorian struck. Its right arm moved as a blur, meeting the bear in its midsection. The blow turned the bear's torso into a mist of blood and tissue that covered the wall behind it with a wet splash. What remained of the bear's upper and lower body fell to the floor with a muted splash. The video image stopped.  
"The Praetorian's strength is unequalled by anything in the natural world. Our engineering division had to create new composite materials just to contain and observe it at five weeks." Prescott paused, "Five weeks is the period necessary for the Praetorian to fully mature." He digressed.  
"Should you opt to provide us the contract, General, we can have 100 units ready in 4 months time. There are specifics as to cost and the X5172A's capabilities here." Prescott slid a plastic folder towards the General.  
"Thank you Doctor". Shit, Williams thought to himself. What exactly was the Department getting itself into? He'd seen the way Prescott smiled during the video demonstration. It was like a child on Christmas morning. The idea of unleashing a monster like that on any enemy...The Joint Chiefs were really pushing this project none the less. What recommendation could he-  
The General was interrupted by a ring. It was Prescott's cell phone.  
  
"Um, excuse me for a moment General." Prescott chuckled awkwardly as he produced his cell phone from inside his jacket pocket. He brought it to his ear, turning to face a corner of the room.  
"Prescott. This is not a good-When? Has anyone reported in? Send-" Prescott cut himself off, noticing the sudden attention he was receiving from General Williams. He mumbled something before hanging up his phone.  
"If you'll excuse me General, I seem to be late for another engagement. I'll let you consider our progress, thank you for your time." Prescott did not look back as he strode quickly out the door.  
  
9:19 PM Shawn Green ensured the magazine in his M4A1-SOPMOD was properly fitted before yanking and releasing the cocking handle. The rifle's bolt leapt forward, chambering a round with a satisfying clunk. Green turned the weapon's fire selector to safe before placing it on the metal table in front of him. The SOPMOD was an impressive looking weapon, though it was not a vast improvement over its M4 Carbine parentage. In addition to the standard features of the M4, including the shortened barrel and collapsible stock, this variant of the SOPMOD included an optical sight with polarized lenses, a barrel mounted flashlight, and an integral laser-sight. Black gun tape covered the weapon's sling mounts, a habit carried over from Green's previous line of work. Green was ambushed in his thoughts by the entrance of the team leader, Frank Carlson.  
"Green, you get your shit wired yet?" Carlson's hoarse voice reverberated between the cheap metal shelves and concrete walls in the armoury. A former marine Captain and member of Force Recon, Carlson's six- foot-four 245 pound frame filled the doorway.  
"Making a list, checking it twice. Ready shortly Sir." Dickhead, Green thought to himself. As the junior member of the team and the only Non-American, he was forever being hassled by the team's senior members.  
"Well move your ass soldier, we ship out in 30." Carlson, still every bit a marine abruptly turned about and made his way down the hall. Green wondered how long it'd taken him to grow accustomed to not being saluted every 20 seconds. He turned back to his locker, removing the remainder of his kit.  
He first examined and readied his secondary weapon, a Heckler and Koch SOCOM pistol. Not a cheap weapon, but, Green mused to himself, Umbrella seemed to have deep pockets. He'd only been hired on for seven months now and had already made enough to afford a new house, a new car, and a measure of luxury he'd never quite had as a military man.  
Green had enlisted in the Canadian Forces at 18 years of age, for reasons he was still unsure of. As a private, he was almost immediately recognized for his soldiering potential. He quickly became a qualified paratrooper, also attending the advanced reconnaissance course, Canadian Sniper School and U.S. Army Ranger School. A corporal at 21, he had been selected for officer training. Following a few years of subsidized university, Green was commissioned as a second-lieutenant, and recruited shortly thereafter to the Canadian Special Forces team, Joint Task Force Two. During his time with JTF-2, he served as a troop commander, and eventually made the rank of Captain. Seeing himself now on the fast track to command, and more to the point, a desk, Green retired at 29, in search of something else.  
It was not long before his current employer appeared on the scope. Umbrella had sought him out personally, offering him several times his former salary to work as a "civilian contractor" for their security branch. It was then he became a member of the U.M.C.S., the Umbrella Counter- measures Service. The team operated primarily on the basis of seniority, and there-in lay a few problems for Green. The fall from Captain to the lowest rung on a seven-member team was a bruise to Green's ego, though he would never outright admit it.  
Green examined the last of his equipment before fully suiting up. The Canadian forces Tactical vest he had "borrowed" from his previous employer went on over his nomex coveralls. The pixilated green camouflage pattern was perhaps not the best compliment to his otherwise black uniform, but it certainly did its job. The Kevlar construction and ceramic plates protecting his torso were reassuring if nothing else. Something from days passed, Green thought to himself. The U.M.C.S patch attached on the vest's front, however, was a reminder of something else.  
Throwing his respirator, helmet, canteen, and a few extra magazines into a warn black backpack, Green closed his locker and made his way out of the armoury. He turned left down the largely non-descript hallway, approaching the briefing room. As he rounded the doorway, he could see the rest of the team suited up and already gathered around the small table.  
"Green! Nice of you to join us!" It was Dennis Casey, the second most junior member of the team and a former SEAL. He was built like a brick-shit-house, probably the reason no one commented on his ridiculous handle-bar moustache. Though he barely exceeded Green in simulated rank, he was always the first to jump on him when the chance arose.  
"Yeah, sorry I'm late. There was some Navy circle-jerk competition on pay-per view, I got a little caught up in it." Green shot back quickly.  
  
Casey rose to his feet, towering over Green.  
"Listen you little shit, I'll-"  
"Enough." Walter Harris, the team's second in command spoke over the two. Harris' background was Army, serving first as a Green Beret and then as a member of Delta Force. Though usually stoic and intellectual, he was none the less quick to keep the team in line. He looked at Casey with veiled contempt before turning his gaze to Green.  
"Green, if your gear's in order, please take a seat." He gestured toward a metal folding chair on the table's left side. Green sat down, placing his rifle in his lap. He searched the faces staring back at him briefly.  
Harris was to his left, on his right was Alex Wong, the team's primary demolitions expert and a veteran of the US Army Special Forces. Seated across the table were Nathan Myers, the team medic and former Ranger First-Sergeant, and Ross Hamilton, another ex-SEAL. Carlson sat at the head of the table, while Casey stood fuming in the room's corner. Carlson began.  
"You've all been briefed at this point, I just wanted to take the time to review the details. Once again, our mission is this: Firstly, we are to search for any surviving researchers. Secondly, we are to ensure the site is secure and evac. Questions on these points?"  
"One, sir", Myers responded, "We know the nature of the attack was chemical, but do we have any further information on the attackers? Numbers, training, anything of the sort?"  
"Not as yet, no. That does raise an important point. I repeat that respirators are to be worn at all times during this mission. We assume the agent used in the attack has been mostly dealt with by the laboratory ventilation system, but I don't want to take any chances." He glanced at Green out the corner of his eye. Green was scowling slightly, looking down at the table.  
"Mr. Green, you look as if you have something to say." Carlson caught his eye, trying to stare him down. Hesitantly, Green responded.  
"Just something I've been mulling over since your first briefing, Sir", The 'sir' was not without a hint of disdain. "What would be the point of attacking a laboratory with chemical weapons and then not taking anything, either technology or hostages? We know that no one's left. There's been no attempt to contact anyone with demands. Further, how would these 'terrorists', whoever they are, know where this lab is? It's underground at some small town university, and frankly-"  
"I didn't realize that was your concern Mr. Green" Carlson answered, visibly irritated, "We have our orders, straight from the company, and this is the real deal. I doubt the company would fake an explosion in a multimillion dollar lab to make us earn our paycheques. If you're uncomfortable with this mission, by all means, stay back here."  
Green gritted his teeth.  
"No Sir, it was just a question."  
"Well I believe I've answered it. Now, I'll direct your attention again to these maps..."  
Carlson's words faded off in Green's mind. He'd paid enough attention the first time they'd been briefed, he thought, and this weren't exactly NATO format orders. He had no doubt this wasn't just another exercise, but the explanation offered had seemed lacking. He knew he wasn't the only one of this opinion: he has noticed both Harris and Myers nodding during his question. Damn Carlson, he thought, crucify me for wanting to go in prepared. Green let his thoughts wander, collecting himself only when he half noticed that Carlson was nearing the end of his briefing session.  
"Since there are no questions, we'll load the helo now. Dismissed."  
  
Carlson rose from the table, leaving the room. The remainder of the team was quick to follow, emptying into the hallway. They crowded into the elevator, making their way to the ground floor. Exiting the building, the team broke into a brisk run, making their way to the Helipad. On the helipad was a UH-60 Blackhawk, rotors motionless but the flight crew already aboard. The Blackhawk was a military chopper, though Umbrella had managed to privately secure several for their U.M.C.S. teams. The 7.62mm mini-guns on either side of the helicopter reminded Green that his employer seemed to operate as much as an independent nation as a corporation. He and the others were aboard before the crew-chief secured the doors and the whir of the rotors commenced. They were soon airborne and on course to the small town of Westville. 


	2. The Calm Before

10:42 PM  
  
Kyle rounded the corner of the arts building, clearing campus and making his way downtown. As enticing as the prospect of a Friday night at home might have been, he opted to get in a few beers at the small pub he frequented downtown, the Reading Room. Both he and Trevor had been faithful patrons at the reading room since their second year, but nearly two years later, the wait staff still didn't remember their names. As he ascended the wooden stairs at the pub's entrance, he heard the familiar contemporary jazz CD that seemed to be playing there on an endless loop. The small pub was warm, with a few antique tables and a polished wood bar. The owners had intended the pub to cater to upscale clientele, but, like most businesses in Westville, they ended up dealing primarily with students. The students who gathered here were those either stupid or pretentious enough to pay $4.50 for a pint of Guinness, or those who wanted a break from the skull-shaking bass of Westville's more popular dance clubs. Kyle hoped he was part of the later. "Eh! Kyle!" Trevor's resounding voice filled the small room. Kyle turned to face him. Trevor was already seated at a table by the window, across from Jessica, his latest doomed relationship. Kyle gave them three weeks. He smiled wryly before pulling a third seat over to the small table. "Surprised to see you this early", Trevor said, "Figured you'd be over at the center until at least 11:30". "Yeah, ends up the whole place was locked up. Fucking Umbrella, eh? I don't think anyone's going to walk off with an electron microscope." "Yeah well, at least your rats are safe. Did you e-mail Brightman? He'll probably be pissed if you aren't done on Monday." Trevor was already beginning to slur his words. "Meh" Kyle replied, "I'll probably do it tomorrow. I'm not sure what the hours are for the lab on weekends." Trevor laughed under his breath. The fact that they were likely the two best students in the department while barely putting in a few hours of work in a week was a running joke between the two. The waitress came from behind the bar to take Kyle's order. "Just a Boddington's, thanks." "Um, yeah, can I get another purple haze?" It was Jessica. Her voice had a way of grating on virtually anyone despite not being outwardly annoying. Kyle and Trevor's eyes met briefly, both shook their heads. The waitress made her way back to the bar. With Jessica discussing the finer points of what she'd learned in her art history class that day, Kyle's focus soon faded. He stared out the window at a group of girls likely making their way towards the Globe, one of the louder bars in town. Their faces were caked with make-up and they held hands, stumbling and giggling almost as one. Kyle could almost hear the resonating bass from the bar down the street. It seemed to be getting louder. Try as he might, Kyle had yet to gain an appreciation for club mixes of 50 cent and Sean Paul. Their loss, he supposed. Kyle was about to turn back to the conversation when he realized that the noise was, in fact, getting louder. The regular thumping was beginning to overpower the subdued jazz that filled the bar. It was then that he realized that it wasn't music, but the beating of a helicopter's rotor. He stared at the night sky through the window, searching for the source of the noise. "What the hell is that?" Trevor's words momentarily distracted him. "I think it's a chopper...it has to be pretty low." Kyle replied, resuming his search of the sky. "No fucking kidding", Trevor shot back, "Why are we being treated to an air show in Westville on a Friday night?" Kyle didn't answer, intensifying his search. Over the roof of the bike shop across the street, he made out the black silhouette of a Blackhawk helicopter, making its way towards campus.  
  
10:47 PM  
  
Shawn Green took a moment to gaze over the sleepy town as they neared their drop site. It didn't seem a bad place. The sort of town he could envision retiring to, minus the gaggles of students stumbling to and from the bar.  
"I guess we can assume the locals haven't heard about the attack." Green spoke loudly to be heard over the sound of the rotors. Walter Harris answered with a minute smile and a nod.  
"30 seconds!" Carlson's voice rang out over his headset. He quickly checked over his equipment, ensuring everything was secure before removing his respirator and pulling it over his head. He double checked its seals, tightening the straps at its rear.  
"Green and Wong are the first two down, followed by myself and Harris" Carlson's voice again sounded over his headset, "Secure the rooftop and open the access hatch, then cover the remainder of the team as they drop. Just like training boys."  
Green could picture the grin under Carlson's gas mask. The chopper slowed, coming to a hover over a large building flanked by trees and a greenhouse. The chopper's crew chief, another umbrella employee, checked the anchors for the fast rope lines, giving a thumbs-up to Carlson.  
"Go! Go!" Countless hours of drill kicked in as Green grasped the deploying rope between his feet and hands, sliding rapidly towards the roof. He landed near dead center on the large, flat portion of the roof with a solid, if not graceful, thud. He quickly cleared the rope, moving towards the access hatch in the western corner of the roof. He swept the roof, rifle up and following his eyes as Wong landed, tripping slightly. "Two down, roof is secure." He heard Wong report over his headset. Green turned his attention to the keypad beside the dull steel hatch. Flipping open its cover, he quickly keyed the combination with gloved fingers. A green light blinked and the hatch opened with a gentle hiss. He stared briefly down the access hatch, little more than a meter and a half wide, metallic rungs descending downwards. The red emergency lights gave it a surreal appearance. The rest of the team dropped quickly, moving towards the hatch. Harris was the first down, and the remainder followed close behind, grunted as they descended the rungs. With Wong making his way down, Green scanned the roof a final time before lowering himself into the hatch. The sound of the chopper grew distant as it ascended and began to circle the area.  
  
10:51 PM  
  
Kyle had downed the better part of his pint in a few sips. He could still hear the distant sound of the chopper. Trevor noticed his friend was still staring out the window.  
"Like you said, it's probably just a med-evac or something. Weird though."  
"Yeah...I could have sworn it was a military helicopter." That option, Kyle thought to himself, was not particularly odd either. There was a small Air Force base about an hour out of town. Still, it remained somewhat off-putting.  
"Whatta you say we had back after this one? I've got most of a quart of JD left at the house, it beats six dollar beers." Trevor proposed, "Jess, you up for going back to the apartment?"  
"Sure Trev, I'm not much for this music anyway."  
Kyle nodded his approval as well, taking another deep sip from his pint. A sudden sound at the glass made him nearly spill his drink. It was a freshman, known by none of them, rubbing his butt-cheeks on the window. Noticing he'd got their attention, he ran for the opposite side of the street, high-fiving a friend on the way.  
"Fucking first years." Trevor said. They all nodded.  
  
10:55 PM  
  
Green released the last rung, his feet landing firmly on the concrete floor. The small entry way, perhaps 10 by 10, seemed even smaller when occupied by the team. A few of the members stooped down, their heads uncomfortably close to the low roof. The same red light filled the room, coming from a single caged bulb next to the dull metal security door. Displayed on the door in large white letters was "B2".  
"Alright, what's going to happen is this" Carlson began, "Hamilton will open the door and we all pile in. This floor is our sole means of access and egress, so we secure this floor before moving to the lower level, which should have been sealed off like this one. Any hostiles, we drop on sight. Myers, I need you on any civilian casualties we find ASAP. If they're seriously injured, we'll drop a line and rope them up the access shaft. Keep sharp and we'll be out of here in no time."  
Green couldn't see the point in Carlson repeating himself. They'd already been briefed in twice, and they were all professional soldiers. Maybe it was his way of rallying the troops, or maybe he just wanted to remind them incase they had forgotten, idiots that they were. In any case, Green focused, double checking his rifle and respirator before falling into his position.  
Hamilton approached the door, the rest of the team standing a meter or so back. He keyed the combination on the recessed key pad beside the door before placing his hand on the large metal latch on the door. Over their headsets, the team heard the countdown: Five, four, three, two...  
At two, Hamilton twisted the handle, and the door emitted a pneumatic hiss before swinging open. It was a full meter thick, and Hamilton grunted to move it quickly despite the mechanical assist.  
One. The door was fully open. Carlson, the second man in after Casey, removed a flash-bang grenade from his tactical vest, pulling the pin and hurling it underhand though the door. The team turned away as the blinding flash and resonating boom signaled the stun grenade's explosion.  
"Go! Go!" With that, the team rushed into the vast main hallway of the laboratory, weapons up and sweeping their arcs of fire. They saw no one.  
"Main hall clear" Casey chirped over the radio. The team began to spread out, breaking into three smaller teams. Green was paired with Myers.  
The hall was in a state of disarray. The overhead sprinklers, doubtless triggered hours before, dripped occasionally onto the white tile floor. Close to 20 feet wide and 75 feet in length, the hall really qualified as more of a large room. Documents and equipment were strewn everywhere and soaked in water. The stainless steel walls, punctuated by doors and Plexiglas viewing windows, still ran with small rivulets of water. The sterile fluorescent lighting flickered periodically.  
Green knew the floor plan well: They were flanked on all sides by laboratories and a few offices. The security desk and access to the B1 floor were to their left, at the end of the hall was a larger research area with access to the B3 floor by elevator and a small stairway. He and Myers we tasked with handling casualties once the area was secure, as well as sweeping laboratories six and seven on the left side of the hall.  
Myers nodded at Green and they made their way towards the door marked "Lab Six".  
"Wait." Myers said, gesturing to the Plexiglas panel beside the door. It was pockmarked with bullet holes, seeming to originate from inside. Green gritted his teeth and nodded.  
Grasping the door handle, Myers waited for Green to ready a flash bang. Opening the door a crack, he threw it in. Following the trademark blast, Myers threw the door open and Green rushed inside.  
He quickly swept the room with his eyes. The lab, much like the hall, was a disaster. Lab equipment had been piled behind the door in a poor attempt to barricade it. The large lab benches were covered in broken glass and noxious chemicals.  
"AAAAGGGHHHHH!!!" Green registered the maniacal scream instantly, spinning to face it. A figure leapt up from behind a table at the room's rear. Brandishing a pistol, the figure aimed towards the door.  
The pistol did not even make it to the man's eye level before Green fired. He pulled the trigger of his rifle twice, careful to control his breath while firing. The first round ripped through the center of the man's face, spurting gore onto the wall behind him. The second round tore through the already dead man's throat, ripping nearly half his neck open. He fell to the floor, dropping his pistol with a metallic clank.  
Green was already searching the room for further movement but found none. Himself and Myers moved through the rest of the room quickly.  
"Ah, shit". Myers gestured towards their feet. Behind another table lay a body, blood congealed on the tile floor beneath it. The body was wearing a lab jacket and a name tag. It was a woman, probably in her late thirties. Her name tag read "Dr. Melanie Duncan". She had been shot several times, most noticeably in the torso and head.  
"Fuckers." Green said, shaking his head. They approached the site where Green had dropped the gunman. Standing over his body, they paused.  
He too was wearing a lab jacket. His name-tag read "Dr. Andrew Lee". The face on his security pass corresponded to the one that lay, half destroyed, in front of them. The two were silent, the only noise coming from their respirators.  
Green was about to speak when a muffled scream sounded over his headset. It sounded like Wong. Green and Myers looked at each other briefly before moving towards the door. Green hit the button to activate his throat microphone.  
"Carlson, it's Charlie team. What the hell was that?"  
"Charlie team, Carlson. Forget Lab seven, it's clear. We're in Lab three, get your asses over here now."  
  
11:08 PM  
  
Kyle started to feel the characteristic warmth of alcohol though his body. They'd decided to stay at the Reading Room for one more round. His mind was wandering from the conversation at the table to his thesis, and any number of topics in between. The prospect of graduating was a daunting one, something he often mulled over in times like these. He was planning to teach English in Japan for a year, an option not as academic as his thesis advisor and family may have wanted, but his plan none the less. Originally he and Trevor were planning on traveling after Grad, but with Trevor now planning on attending Medical school the next year, it seems their plans would have to be put aside. Kyle was planning on leaving for Japan a month or so after graduation. He'd studied karate on and off since he was five and had always been fascinated with Japanese culture. After reading Shogun in his second year, he had made up his mind.  
"Man, you're awfully quiet." Trevor interrupted his mental wandering.  
"Yeah, yeah. Just thinking about what I'm going to have to do tomorrow." Short of an extreme hangover, Kyle didn't sleep in late on the weekends. He would probably be up around nine, and maybe take a run before going to the labs. Trevor would probably be up around three.  
"Well now's the perfect time to be thinking about that. Jesus, it's Friday night. I think that seals it, we're getting wrecked tonight."  
Jessica moved a little closer to Trevor, whispering something in his ear. Kyle couldn't make it out, but it was likely something about him drinking three nights this week. Kyle and a few of their shared friends had joked about staging a mock intervention for Trevor. He chuckled quietly, watching Trevor take another pull off his pint of Guinness. There was always tomorrow to do work.  
  
11:09 PM  
  
Green and Myers ran threw the door of Lab three, taking in the scene in front of them. The lab was laid out in much the same fashion as the one they had just been in, but slightly larger. Light came from a few overhead fixtures and from an office at the rear. On the floor sat Wong and Casey, Wong bleeding from his hand and Casey from his leg. Next to them lay the bloodied body of a researcher with a bullet hole in his head. The researcher had bloody fabric and flesh lodged in his mouth. The rest of the team stood over them.  
"Myers, take care of them." Carlson barked the order. Myers already had his medkit open, removing sterile dressings.  
"What happened?" Myers looked to Carlson.  
"Ask them." Carlson responded. Myers looked to Wong and Casey, both breathing heavily through their respirators. Wong began.  
"This guy was on the floor", he gestured towards the body, "but was still moving. He looked pretty messed up, but I figured I'd check if he was still breathing. I leaned down to check, and the fucker bit me. Right through my glove!" He showed his bloody hand to Myers, a large chunk of flesh was missing, along with a piece of his leather fast-roping gloves.  
"I leapt back, and he grabbed Casey's leg and took a hunk out of him too." He nodded towards Casey who was bleeding from a wound to his calf.  
"We both backed off, and he wouldn't stop crawling towards us, he looked like a fucking rabid dog." Wong's words were sharpened with pain, "Casey put one in his head, point blank." Myers was rapidly sterilizing and bandaging the wounds.  
Carlson turned to Green.  
"We heard shots fired from your location. I assume you encountered a hostile and didn't think to report in?" Annoyance was rife in his tone.  
"I had a weapon produced, and I dropped him. It wasn't a terrorist though, it was a fucking researcher." Some measure of shame was heard in Green's voice.  
"You dropped a friendly?" Carlson's eyes were bulging from behind his gas mask. Myers butted in.  
"There was a weapon, I'm confident he would have fired. Researcher or not, he was a threat. I don't hear you balling out Wong and Casey right now Frank."  
"Finish patching those two up." Carlson shot back, angrily, "Alright, this whole thing is SNAFU. I'm going to raise the chopper for a med evac and recommend we pull out. We aren't tasked for this shit, especially two short." Carlson paused.  
"Just to confirm, we found no hostiles on this level? Not one?" The team nodded, a few ringing in with "affirmative."  
"No survivors either sir" Harris addressed Carlson, "But we've still got the B3 level yet."  
"The intel I received said both the hostiles and friendlies would be concentrated on this floor. B3 is secondary."  
"Sir, there could still be survivors down there. If we pull out and wait for them to deploy team two-"  
"I'm calling in. We'll let the higher-ups make the decision, but I say we pull out." Carlson was now beginning to regret not briefing the team in greater detail. He could tell by searching their eyes that they knew that this was not a terrorist attack. They hadn't made it to the elite units they served with for a lack of common sense. If he ordered them on, he couldn't be sure that they'd follow. At best, he could pull the team out, re-equip and re-brief and hope the team would follow him later. But right now, he thought to himself, I'm not getting killed for a paycheck. Carlson switched channels and raised the chopper.  
  
11:15 PM  
  
Prescott was awakened by his cell phone ringing. He had only turned in a half hour before and despised being woken up. He reached for the phone on his bedside table.  
"Dr. Prescott, Sir." It was Hank Laughlin, the head of Umbrella's UMCS division.  
"Yes Mr. Laughlin. I assume this is a pressing matter?"  
"Yes, Sir. It pertains to the Westville Lab."  
"I assumed you would handle this Mr. Laughlin. If you're calling me now for a pat on the back, you may as well hang up now. Your teams should be effective for the amount we pay them." Prescott pictured the men facing the Praetorian with a smile. He could only imagine how they managed to contain it. A good combat test, none the less.  
"That's the problem Sir. The team's suffered some casualties and is requesting to be pulled out."  
"But they've isolated the specimen in the sub-basement? It's in stasis?"  
"Sir, they haven't even reached the second sub-basement yet. Apparently in the melee, the virus was released. An infected researcher attacked a few of the team members. They're requesting a med evac."  
Prescott bit his lip. He was furious.  
"Some of the team is infected, then?" Prescott asked, calmly.  
"Yes, sir. Two members reported."  
"You know what to do Mr. Laughlin. Prep the containment team."  
  
11:21 PM  
  
"Copy, we just received word from the top. Pull your team out, we'll extract you from the rooftop. Secure the exits and watch our approach."  
Carlson smiled, thanking the pilot before closing the channel.  
"Let's move out. Casey, Wong, can you make the climb?"  
They both nodded. They were clearly in pain, but had too much pride to ask for help. They slung their weapons and rose to their feet.  
The team moved back to the entrance, sealing the door behind them. As the first began to ascend the ladder, the door closed with a substantial thud.  
  
11:21 PM  
  
Kyle, Trevor, and Jessica slowly made their way across campus. After a few years, they had figured out the fastest route to virtually anywhere in Westville, and in this case, the fastest route to their apartment was passing through campus. They passed the large administration building, making their way to the path that passed between Memorial Hall, a small residence, and the Life Sciences center. Cutting between the two buildings cut a few minutes off their travel time, and Kyle had lived in Memorial house his first year, so it always made him a little reminiscent walking by.  
"Man, look." Trevor stopped, pointing upward. The sound of a rotor was growing ever closer, the chopper's silhouette nearing the Life Sciences center. The chopper drew their attention to the rooftop, where the shapes of seven men could easily be made out, even a hundred yards away.  
"What the hell are those guys doing up there?" Kyle was the first to pose the question.  
Trevor and Jessica shook their heads, unknowingly. They leaned on the wall of the administration building, watching the chopper descend.  
  
11:22 PM  
  
Green watched the chopper approach them, beginning to circle the building. Not the most covert exfil, but either way, he thought to himself, I'll be sleeping at home tonight. He wondered what cover story the company had cooked up to explain their presence to the university administration. Roof maintenance, maybe? I wouldn't buy it, he thought, but there didn't seem to be any onlookers gathered around the building. Most of the students were probably half in the bag by now anyway.  
"Alright, lower the lines." Carlson radioed the pilot. The roof would never hold the weight of the chopper, so they had to settle for being winched up from several meters above.  
No answer came from the pilot.  
"Repeat, lower the lines. We're ready to get the hell out of here." Carlson raised his voice over the radio.  
The chopper turned to face the team side on, slowly ascending. Green was the first to realize what was happening.  
"Oh shit!" Green dove forward, colliding with Myers in a desperate attempt to get him to the ground. Just then, the chopper opened up. A meter long flame spouted from the 7.62mm mini-gun on the chopper's side. The crew chief manning the gun swept it over the team, raking the roof with hundreds of rounds.  
Carlson was hit first, nearly torn in half by the stream of lead showering down on them. Green didn't see the rest of the team go down, falling under Myer's body. It convulsed on top of him and he could feel the warm blood soaking into his uniform. The report of the gun went on for another second and then stopped. Green lay perfectly still, hearing the chopper circle around him.  
  
11:23 PM  
  
Todd Raymond's hands were shaking. He'd seen death before, even inflicted it, but this was murder. The mini-gun's mechanical whine came to a stop as the rotation of the barrel's slowed. The acrid smell of cordite filled the chopper.  
"You sure you got all of them? Orders were clear on that." The pilot's voice came through his head set. The pilot had been a company man far longer than Todd. He coughed before answering.  
"No movement. They're down."  
"Alright, I'll relay that. We'll return to base and pick up the containment team."  
"Roger." Raymond tried to control the convulsions of his hands. He felt nauseous. God help everyone left in this town, he thought, they'll be lucky to see out the night.  
  
11:23 PM  
Kyle stared at the roof in disbelief. He'd just seen seven men mowed down on a rooftop. Trevor and Jessica both gaped open-mouthed at the distant pile of bodies, wafts of smoke rising from the roof. None of them knew what to say. The chopper was now little more than a dot in the night sky. The three looked to each other, as if expecting an answer to what they'd just witnessed.  
"Wait, look!" Jessica blurted out, her voice cracking. She gestured back towards the roof. One of the distant figures was rising to its feet, pushing the body atop it aside. Stumbling before fully standing, he seemed to be taking in the scene at his feet.  
Kyle, Trevor and Jessica broke into a full run, headed towards the Janet Young Life Sciences Center. 


End file.
